An Infinite Spectrum
by mad half hour
Summary: There are countless parallel universes where Magnus and Alec have different roles to play, but in all of them there is one constant: they always find each other. (Chapter Four- Alec and Magnus have been best friends since they were children. Ironically, when Alec's feelings for Jace begin to break them apart, it takes Magnus's death to bring them back together.)
1. Alec as Camille & Canon Magnus

**A/N-** **This series is a collection of fills for Malec role reversal prompts** **I've requested over on tumblr. For anyone interested in sending me a prompt, check out my profile. As long as it is Malec, and one or both of our presh men are requested in a different role within the series, ****I'm probably open to writing it.**

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_An Infinite Spectrum_

::: _one—Camille!Alec & canon!Magnus_ : : :

"It's been a long time, Alexander," Magnus says, closing the Sanctuary's door behind him with a flick of his hand and a small shower of blue sparks.

Alec looks up from his seat on the stone floor, peering out through a curtain of pitch black bangs. In their years apart, Magnus had almost forgotten how startlingly pale his skin looks in contrast to his hair. It stands out like moonlight, lovely if not for the blessed chains binding him to the column behind him and the burns already beginning to form.

"It has," Alec agrees, tilting his head toward Magnus in acknowledgment. As he does, his bangs slide away, revealing blue eyes as dark as the evening sky, gleaming like the stars that adorn it. They put Magnus in mind of late night strolls through London, walking hand-in-hand near the Thames, smiling despite the awful stench of the water and quarreling over Magnus's insistence that Alec put a show of breathing on if only for fairness' sake. Alec's hand had always been cold in his back then, especially after Magnus had coaxed him out of the habit of wearing gloves. He had warmth enough to share, and what were chilled hands in comparison to the feel of fingers as soft as silk and strong as steel clasped around Magnus's own?

"You've hardly changed at all," Magnus observes at last, lips twitching into a semblance of a smile at the sight of familiarly shabby, out-of-date clothing, "especially the contents of your closet. I'm pretty sure you wore that shirt on one of our dates."

"You always were the one to keep me modern," Alec admits with a shrug. A bare patch of his skin hisses as it comes into firmer contact with the chains, but if it hurts overly much, Alec doesn't show it. "You haven't changed much either, Magnus."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I update my wardrobe weekly, for one, and I'm doing something different with my hair—"

"I see you still avoid conflict with nonchalance and flippancy, though." Alec huffs out a small laugh, but his eyes are sharp and unamused. "You still have that habit of giving your heart away to hopeless cases and heartbreakers if that blonde mortal from earlier is anything to go by. Who is she?"

"My girlfriend," Magnus says plainly, cataloguing the way Alec's breath hitches minimally at the confession. Once, Magnus would have thought of it as a habit from living that lingered past Alec's death. In his darker days, when he and Alec had first went their separate ways and he tried so desperately to hate everything about Alec, he was convinced it was something Alec mimicked to make himself seem more human, more accessible. Now, with a century to distance himself from all of the personal hurts that had festered after the severing of their relationship, Magnus isn't sure which, if either, is right.

Ultimately, Magnus supposes it doesn't matter anymore.

"So you really are dating a Shadowhunter, then? Are you really that desperate to keep taking lovers who will eventually leave you, that you would associate yourself with the same people who look down on, judge and slaughter our kind for an assumed self-righteous 'heavenly mandate'?"

There are dark veins standing out against the translucent skin of Alec's temples, webbing across it like spun spider silk, but even that doesn't take away from his beauty. Neither does the sneer pulling up his lip to bare a hint of fang. It is a terrible sort of loveliness, beautiful in the way a bright flash of lightning tearing apart the sky is. It is something that Magnus has both loathed to remember and yearned to relive for over one hundred years. If not for his age and experience, he would already be on his knees before Alec, pressing himself into that blistering brilliance.

"Speaking of not changing, you're just as jealous as you used to be. To be fair, you are probably at least twice as hateful now. I understand your grudge against Shadowhunters," and truly, Magnus does. Once, before Will and Tessa and Jem and the others at the London Institute, he felt similarly, and Alec has his own reasons that few could even begin to relate to, Magnus included, "but with the accusations leveled against you right now, all that vitriol is only going to work against you."

"Whatever murders they are trying to accuse me of, they are wrong," Alec says bluntly. "As much as I wouldn't have minded ending the life of a former Circle member, I'm not stupid, and I don't kill senselessly. You know that about me, Magnus."

"I used to think that of you," Magnus corrects, studiously ignoring the way Alec's eyes had softened toward the end of his explanation for the first time since seeing him. "I never thought you'd have left me, either."

"That's not fair," Alec says, jerking forward against his bonds until beads of gem bright, shining blood begin to pearl along his wrists. "I had no choice, and when I came back and tried to explain myself, _you_ left _me_. You told me you loved me, and then demanded I leave. Besides, what happened between us shouldn't be held against my entire character. Not when my life is on the line."

When it came to danger, Alec had always been contained, standing dauntless and resolute against whatever had risen up to face him. To most, Alec had never been afraid in his centuries of reanimation. Magnus knows where to look though, sees the fear in every tense line of his lips and shoulders. Right now, chained down and helpless, facing serious accusations leveled against him by people who have only ever disappointed him and with no one to support him, Alec is quietly terrified.

Before everything had gone so wrong between them, Magnus would have gently smoothed every one of those lines away. Maybe that's why he steps forward and sits, joining Alec on the floor. Their knees touch, and Magnus can feel the chill of Alec's skin through both layers of cloth between them. When he shivers, Magnus chalks it up to that.

"If you didn't do anything wrong, then why are you here, Alec?" Nothing passes between them but silence, Alec's lips pressed together into a severe, bloodless line. "Why did you ask for _me_?"

"Because, no matter what distance we've kept between each other, I knew you could never let me die. Not like this, when you know all of the history involved in this decision—"

"I really don't think it has anything to do with your family, Alec," Magnus interrupts. "The Lightwoods were Circle members once, but everyone has kept an eye on them since they took over the Institute. Besides, targeting you would only unearth something no one's discussed in decades."

"And not when I know you still love me," Alec finishes without missing a beat, meeting Magnus's eyes steadily. His chest is utterly still, the way it is when he's being completely sincere. No faking, no pretenses. "I knew that you would do everything you could to prove my innocence, because you would never be able to tolerate knowing failure meant they would stake me to the ground outside and leave me to boil in the sun. Pretend all you like, but you couldn't, Magnus. You could no sooner allow me to die than I could you."

"Alec…"

"Admit it," Alec demands, eyes hard and unyielding, as unfathomably deep as the dark, unexplored reaches of the ocean. "You still love me, and you could never let me die. That's why you've only ever been with mortals since you left me. That's why you came here tonight. No matter how much they love you and you claim to love them, they'll eventually die, and deep down you can accept that because you know your eternity still belongs to me. Subconsciously, I have always been your future."

"Nothing of mine belongs to you," Magnus says harshly, running an agitated hand through his hair. His fingers catch on the gel holding it up, tugging at his scalp. "I have mourned the death of every mortal lover I've had, because every one of them has been meaningful to me. Don't you dare trivialize them."

"How many of them have you ever stayed with until the end, Magnus?" Alec questions softly. "One, and she was long before me. Maybe once you thought you could find love anywhere and be okay with it, but you were breaking, Magnus. It wasn't until we found each other that you started to reassemble yourself. Before you left me, you had an eternity with someone you loved spread out before you. Faced with the loss of that, how could mortality ever have the same appeal?"

Blood is running down Alec's wrists in rivulets. For some reason this seems especially important, and Magnus can't stop watching them.

"If you didn't come to get revenge on the Circle, why did you come to New York, Alec?"

The chains holding Alec down rattle as he leans forward, wrists straining and sizzling. Magnus, heart leaping in his throat at the thought of Alec causing himself permanent damage, encloses them in his hands, healing them and laying down protection against future harm.

"Hearing you started a relationship with a Shadowhunter was the final straw," Alec admits. Their faces are so close their noses brush, and Magnus can count every individual eyelash framing Alec's steady, unrepentant gaze. "With respect to you, I've stood back for all these years, waiting for you to come to your senses about me, about us. But this I cannot allow."

"It's my life, Alec. You can't disallow me anything."

"You're right. I can't. But as someone who cares for you, I can tell you that you are being foolish to throw your love away on someone who is sure to hurt you. Even if she isn't using you like so many Shadowhunters do, she is Nephilim. It is their nature to die young, and you know that. I wasn't going to let you set yourself up for another fall like this, Magnus. Not without trying to give you a reason to stop."

"What reason?"

"This."

Then, there are lips against his, as cool and crisp as snowflakes. There are years and years of history in the way they move against him, as familiar and comforting as a longtime friend. In their desperation is over a century of longing and regret, and in their firm press a surety that this is the first kiss of countless more. The insistent swipe of Alec's tongue against the seam of Magnus's mouth feels like a promise for forever more, if only he would open himself up to it.

Magnus cannot remember closing his eyes, but figures that it had to have happened somewhere between Alec's explanation and the kiss, because he hadn't seen it coming. If he had, Magnus probably would have moved away, or stopped Alec before he could.

Yielding to the probe of Alec's tongue, Magnus cannot help but be glad he hadn't, pressing into the strong expanse of Alec's unmoving chest. He tightens his grip on Alec's wrists as Alec's tongue—cold to the point of scalding— brushes against his, moaning into Alec's mouth with all the desperation of a teenage virgin. The familiar pleasure-pain of it has his nerves singing in a way they haven't since Magnus broke everything off and turned away all those years ago, straight to a train station and out of Alec's life for what he thought would be forever.

Guiltily, he thinks that kissing Camille is nothing like this.

When they break apart, Magnus can feel Alec's smile against his cheek, and something inside of him he thought had died flutters back to life. He presses his face into Alec's neck, breathing in the comforting void of his scentlessness and all the places Alec has been, carried on his skin like cologne. Magnus knows he cannot look him in the eye. Not when he knows that with one glance Magnus will be down on his knees, swearing Alec an eternity he'd spent one hundred years deliberately avoiding.

"Alec, I'm with Camille. I can't do this."

Alec laughs again, that same amused huff of unnecessary breath. It stirs against Magnus's forehead pleasantly. Somehow, he has managed to maneuver one of his hands close enough to lie against the side of Magnus's head, fingertips just grazing his hair.

"I've waited for over a century, Magnus. I'm patient enough to play this out for however long it takes to bring you to your senses."

Briefly, Magnus tightens his hold on Alec, determined to soak in everything he has missed. He kisses the smooth column of Alec's throat, feels the softness of Alec's hair against his skin, and lingers on the oddly comforting constant of his still chest. This man is someone whose life is stretched out endlessly before him, cast away from the guttering but brilliant flame of mortality just as Magnus is. The roads of their lives are long, long enough that is only natural they would intersect again and again and again, especially with one of them so determined to ensure they will spend the rest of their travels together.

Magnus stands with a final, heavy breath, wrenching himself away from Alec like one would a band aid: as swiftly as possible to avoid prolonging the pain. He snaps his fingers and the door swings open, hitting the wall with a hollow clang. It is sloppy work for Magnus, and if his smirk is anything to go by, Alec notices.

"I'll see what I can do for you, Alec," Magnus says, throwing one end of his scarf over his shoulder so he has something to do with his hands. "I can't make any promises, but…" His voice trails away pathetically as he turns and begins to walk away.

"I meant what I said," Alec's voice calls out to him, echoing faintly against the stone hallways joining the Sanctuary to the Institute proper. "I'm not going to stand idly by while you bring yourself to ruin again."

Silence follows Alec's proclamation, long enough that Magnus thinks he has finished. Then, just before Magnus has reached the staircase, Alec adds, "I still love you, Magnus. I never stopped."

I know, Magnus thinks to himself, ascending the stairs to the Institute. He closes the door to the Sanctuary firmly behind him and leans against it for support, finally letting out the shaky breath he'd been suppressing since Alec first kissed him. The weight of endless days has begun to resettle itself firmly on his shoulders, and Magnus is not sure how to shake them off, if he can at all. To be honest, Magnus is not sure he would if he could.

After all, Magnus never stopped loving Alec either.


	2. Shadowhunter Magnus & Warlock Alec

**A/N—Man, this one took absolutely forever to get out, and it's sort of more like an intro to the 'verse than something substantial. I actually admit to having made an rp account for this version of Magnus, but never got a warlock!Alexander rp-er to join me, so it died out quickly, haha. As a result, I have a lot of headcanon for him.**

**Anyway, this is written for Titania Eli. If you're interested in a particular role reversal or AU-version of Alec and/or Magnus, just let me know through review, PM, or on my tumblr account (the link can be found on my profile) and I'll try my best.**

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_An Infinite Spectrum_

_::: two—Shadowhunter!Magnus and Warlock!Alec :::_

According to Clary, his name is Alexander Lux, and he's some sort of creepy, brain-signing, memory-stealing criminal with the eyes of a snake. According to Isabelle, 'He's that one awkward apprentice of the High Warlock of Manhattan. Honestly Magnus, don't you ever pay attention when my parents are talking to you?' According to Jace, he's screwed if he even tries to weasel his way out of reversing whatever the heck he did to Clary's head. According to Seymour… Well, Magnus doesn't actually know. He doesn't really listen to the things Clary's little mundane friend says.

What matters, though, is that Magnus has just seen him pass by, and he's absolutely gorgeous. Clearly, Magnus needs to have made the warlock's acquaintance yesterday.

"Isabelle, darling, you know thatI would do anything for you, right?"

"What do you want, Magnus?"

"I just want to mingle a teensy, tiny little bit," he says, pinching his thumb and index finger together to indicate just how teensy tiny he means. Visuals can be very compelling. "I'm pretty sure if I have to stay in this corner of the room watching over one of the most mind-numbingly boring mundanes that I've ever met –no offense, Sheldon—I'll die. As my _parabatai_, it's your sworn duty to prevent that from happening."

The level stare Isabelle sends Magnus's way could move mountains, but Magnus is nothing if not determined. His knees only buckle a fraction under the weight of her gaze. It's at times like this that he can find a silver-lining in the state of far-sightedness all of his permanent vision runes have left his eyes. If he could actually see her glare right now, he'd probably be dead. "What are you really after?"

"Oh Izzy, why do you doubt me so?" he asks, leaning his head on her shoulder forlornly. Peering through the thick tresses of her hair he's buried his face in, he pouts up at her, widening his iridescent green eyes.

"I know you, that's why. I'm sure you've caught sight of some hot guy or girl, and want to put on the charm. Now put the puppy eyes and quivering lip away." To most people, she would look completely unaffected, but Magnus catches the brief flicker of her lips twitch into the start of a smile. "I highly doubt that's the best first move you could make."

"May the Angels learn mercy from the exemplary glow of your pristine and gracious heart." Magnus plants a quick kiss to the crown of her head and darts away, heading in the direction he last caught sight of ink black hair and equally dark, serpentine eyes.

Amidst the milling crowd of Downworlder socialites, he knows he must look glaringly out of place. The leather of his gear and the sturdiness of his footwear are a stark contrast to the delicate silk and cotton affairs of the men and women outside his periphery, and as he weaves between them the light catches on his rune scars, flickering silver over the dusky golden-brown of his bared skin. Even Clary's little mundane friend fits in more. He may be a human, but he is not, a least, a potential enemy.

Much like his guests, the venue of The High Warlock of Manhattan's gala is almost devastatingly extravagant. Beneath the thick soles of Magnus's boots, the marble floor is polished to a high shine, as white as a pearl and as unforgiving as Inquisitor Herondale. It reflects the light of the room –millions of glowing pinpoints hovering near the ceiling, which is painted to resemble infinite galaxies sprawled out across the ballroom—and leaves no shadows or dark spaces for hunters to slip into, out of sight.

Luckily for Magnus, this also means that Alexander has nowhere to hide. It doesn't take long to find him, sitting by himself at a circular table set off to the side, wedged into the furthest corner of the room. Magnus notes first that it is well away from the dance floor and the multitude of guests it bears, and next, that the warlock looks caught between uncomfortable and bored out of his mind.

"Alexander Lux, I presume?"

The warlock's liquid-dark eyes flicker into focus, and as they turn to meet his own Magnus sees that they are not the solid pool of black he had once thought, nor are the pupils, as Clary had led him to believe, vertically slit like a snake's. Rather, the majority of them are a deep, slate grey that blend neatly into the black of his perfectly round pupils. Defining each pupil from the iris is a thin line of the loveliest shade of blue Magnus has ever seen, clearer than a cloudless summer sky. It is hard to tell –he really is terribly far-sighted, and it's so bright, too—but Magnus does not think he can make out even a hint of white within them, either.

"Who's asking?" the warlock asks, narrowing his –lovely, lovely— eyes suspiciously. He runs a thin finger around the rim of his wine glass, and thin patches of pale scales glimmer on the back of his hand, fading into equally pale, smooth skin at his wrist.

"Magnus Bane," he introduces himself, flashing the man a winsome smile. Pulling out the chair opposite Alexander, he spins it around and straddles it, propping his chin on top of his crossed arms. "You may have heard of me. As the Institute adores telling me, I've made quite the splash in the Shadow World recently."

"Oh, so _you're_ the crazy, renegade Shadowhunter Alistair has been complaining about. I should have guessed, considering all of your facial runes." He sits up in interest, but doesn't sound particularly impressed. It just goes to show how sheltered some people are.

"Renegade isn't quite the word I'd use to describe me, as romantic as it might make me sound. I may take on Downworlder clients, but I _do_ still answer to the Clave, you know. I just…like to keep an open mind."

Alexander raises a skeptical brow. "And equally open pocketbook?" At this, Magnus only smiles, and Alexander huffs out a quiet laugh. "My boss kind of hates you, you know. He says you're stealing away his business, and sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Magnus laughs out loud at this, and inwardly thanks the Angel for gifting Nephilim with runes for perfect balance. Otherwise, he probably would have fallen out of his chair. "Is that what he's telling you?"

"Yes," Alexander says. His expression is a little perplexed and a little amused. "Why? Is he lying?"

"Mmm, a little bit, I think," Magnus says with a shrug. "To be fair, I am probably getting at least some of his potential clients. My skill set is _pretty_ specific though, so I'm thinking the hate might have more to do with me turning him down last year. He's not my type." Suggestively, Magnus adds, "I like warlocks who don't hide behind glamours."

Starting thickly at his forehead and slowly thinning out into skin around the middle of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, Alec has facial scales in a descending gradient of gunmetal gray to pearly-white. It makes it hard to tell whether he is actually blushing, or if Magnus is just imagining it hopefully. When he licks his lips, his tongue is black as pitch. A pleasant quiver ripples through Magnus at the sight.

Alexander rolls the glass of wine between his palms, back and forth from base to fingertips. "Are you always this obvious, or am I a special case?"

"I've never seen the point in hiding anything about myself, and it's worked out pretty well for me so far."

As though his words flipped a switch, Alexander's eyes narrow. "Not everyone is so lucky," Alexander points out, gesturing to himself with a bitter smile. "The world isn't exactly kind to someone who looks like me, even when he's an orphan with nowhere to go. I was too young and untrained to change even my eye color, let alone my whole appearance, and society was perfectly content to either fear me or despise me for it."

Though he is clearly distanced from the pain, Magnus can still make out a hint of it in Alexander's voice. The raw tone sends Magnus's heart into his throat. Empathy was one thing Magnus had never come over here expecting to feel, and it leaves him fidgeting with the cuffs of his fingerless gloves as Alec presses on, seemingly caught up in the current of his past. "

"After that sort of hell, after all the scorn and ridicule, the terror of falling asleep knowing I might have woken up to some prejudiced Nephilim or religious zealot slitting my throat, the disgust of a few elitist Shadowhunters is nothing. Don't be fooled into glamorizing my decision not to hide my devil's marks with magic—it's not because I'm brave, or proud of my appearance. I don't bother with glamours because the worst has passed, and I don't have to anymore."

The gaze Alexander levels at him is hard, and Magnus can feel himself, in that moment, placed precariously on a ledge in the warlock's mind. One false move, and he will fall off and out of Alexander's good graces forever. Magnus doesn't know why he is suddenly struck with such fear over the possibility of failing this test. Alexander is attractive, definitely, but he's just one guy, right?

Maybe it's because he knows the feeling of laying himself bare and hoping for the best, only to have his trust thrown back in his face.

Slowly, Magnus lays his hand over Alexander's, stopping the restless circuit of his wine glass with a gentle press from his fingers. "I wasn't mocking you, darling. The circumstances of your birth weren't your fault, nor were any of the events that you faced because of them. You obviously handled things well, though," Magnus tells him, so quietly he wonders if the warlock can hear him at all. "You're still around now, aren't you? That has to count for something, Alexander." He doesn't bother to tell him that he's sorry he went through that, or that sometimes the world is just cruel and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Those sorts of sentiments don't help. That, Magnus knows from experience.

The warlock shrugs in a way that is distinctly uncomfortable, but charmingly open-book. "I guess you could look at it that way." Running a hand through his hair and leaving it even messier than it already had been, he adds, "And call me Alec. Alexander is for clients and Alistair." Everything in his posture is screaming for something to lighten the atmosphere, so Magnus cheerfully obliges the silent request.

"Oooh, nickname status already." Magnus leans in closer, even though all it does is make Alec look more blurry and indistinct. "Are you always this friendly, or am I a special case?"

Magnus can't be sure, but he thinks Alec might be smiling. He definitely laughs, and the sound sends his heart fluttering against his rib cage, pressed hard against the wooden back of the chair. He can feel himself start to grin wider, almost stupidly, pathetically giddy. In the back of his mind he knows he should probably let Jace and Clary know he's found Alec, or at least ask him a little about what he did to the girl's memories, but he can't bring himself to care much right now. For a few more minutes at least, he wants to be selfish. By the Angel, he loves the first flickers of falling into infatuation.


	3. Alec as Jonathan & Canon Magnus

**A/N—This is set in a 'verse where Valentine decided from the beginning that experimenting with demon blood on his own child would be too risky, and experimented on the Lightwood's first son, Alec, instead. **

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_: : : Chapter Three—Alec as Jonathan & canon!Magnus : : :_

The smile on his face is as ghastly as though it had been gashed open with a knife. He's even sporting blood to match the thought, cherry bright against the white of his teeth and the pale skin of his face. It's an image Magnus won't soon forget: a young man with eyes like an oil slick, grinning madness while modeling the blood of his own sister.

"Get Izzy out of here," Magnus commands the others, and is a little bit relieved and a little bit hurt when no one argues to stay behind so he won't be alone. He can't exactly afford to fight with anyone other than Alec right now, but a little concern would have been nice.

"Playing valiant protector again, Bane?" Alec asks, looking at him from under a veil of dark hair that's definitely seen better days. His stance is relaxed, his tone almost idle. If not for the blood staining his hands and the blade held casually at his side, the scene would probably resemble two old friends who ran into each other and started to chat, if old friends ever ran into each other in the middle of a city-wide assault on all living creatures. "I don't know why you bother."

"You?" Magnus drawls, arms crossed. "Unable to comprehend the basics of friendship and the lengths people are willing to go because of it? Color me surprised."

"Is that what you call them?" Alec glances behind Magnus, presumably at the retreating backs of Jace, Simon, Clary, Jonathan, and Izzy. Instantly, Magnus calls up a barrier to defend them, but Alec only grins. The gesture is every bit as sarcastic as Magnus's quips. "I thought friends stuck together. That's what all the movies tell me, anyway."

"You heard me. I told them to leave," Magnus says, calling up magic to his hands. The familiar shine of blue light dancing around his fingertips is reassuring. "I'm not dumb enough for you to try to convince me otherwise, you know."

"No, you're definitely not dumb," Alec agrees, still as cool as a cucumber and as seemingly uninterested in fighting as one. "You're just desperate enough to convince yourself that they're more than just a couple of Shadowhunters using you."

He runs a finger down the edge of his Seraph blade, slow and careless. Once, before everything went to Hell and Alec had revealed himself a traitor, Alec had done similar things with Magnus's spine, fingertips cool against his back. Following behind his caresses, Alec's lips had pressed gratitude and praise into his skin, thank yous breathed out like bedroom hymns. It had been a comfort, then. Even now, facing Alec down with shimmering magic and luminescent adamas between them, the gesture sends a shiver of yearning through him, for times when every moment spent with Alec could be considered a happy memory.

The look Alec sends him is distinctly knowing. "Jace is a pretty face, but he's never been very grateful," Alec continues. "I would know, being his _parabatai_ and all. It was a thankless job."

"I don't quite think you understand," Magnus growls, forcefully ripping his thoughts from the past. There's no use lingering on things that never actually were. Instead, he funnels his hurt into his actions, and with a swish of his hand Alec is propelled through the air. He sails backward, weightless, until he connects with the brick wall behind him. "I don't heed the warnings of psychopaths trying to bring about the world's destruction, darling. Even if I did have reason to think none of them cared for me, why in the world would I believe anything _you_ have to say to me?"

Even held fast to the wall behind him, Alec remains detached and aloof. He lets himself hang, and tilts his head to the side with another calm smile. It's a shame that he's so inclined to horrific misdeeds; the way his hair flops to the side as he does it could be called charming on someone less deranged. "You'll listen because you've already been having these thoughts. I was the only one from that ragtag little group that ever thanked you, that ever cared just how much you were putting yourself on the line for fights that weren't even yours. You say you have no reason to think none of them care about you, but that's not true, is it? Doesn't it concern you that the only time they ever seem to come to you is when they _need_ something?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but all of us have been in almost constant mortal peril for months now," Magnus points out, palm held out before him as he focuses on keeping Alec immobile and in place. His hand is as steady as the measured beating of his heart. "We're all I need now, constantly. There hasn't exactly been time for anyone to stop over for a chat between friends."

"I stopped over," Alec points out. "I stopped over all the time, before Alicante. We talked…amongst other things, obviously. "

For the first time, Magnus feels Alec's words draw blood. "That wasn't _you_. That was some show you put on, a human ruse to make me think you weren't a threat. A way to weasel into my bed, my trust and my-" _My heart_. He falters before he can say it, swallowing the words down like a bitter pill. Even thinking them feels condemning.

Alec – Alec, who had been the first Shadowhunter in decades to extend him any sort of sympathy; Alec, the sweet young man who never acted as though he was entitled to Magnus's abilities even when they were dating; Alec, who used to leave his shirts and sweaters lying around so often Magnus finally broke down and cleared out a space for him in his closet; Alec, who was the most lovely lie Magnus had ever fallen for, literally and metaphorically— watches him, his eyes like dark holes, twin models of the void behind the stars. Analyzing. Taking everything in. Magnus almost thinks he could see a bit of _his_ Alec in the man before him now, studiously considering every angle before deciding what step to take next. _His_ Alec had always been so careful, so cautious. If only they'd all known why.

"Of course it was me, Magnus," Alec says finally. His voice is soft, and painfully familiar. Calculated to perfection. "I'm the same person now that I was then. I haven't changed."

Magnus snorts. "Yeah, tell that to all the people you slaughtered when you took down the wards in Alicante that night, or your sister—"

"_Those people_ were corrupt bigots," Alec interrupts. He's glaring now, and his angular cheekbones are flushed with anger. It figures that the first time Alec reacts tonight, really reacts, and it's with hatred. "They would have sooner joined Valentine and let your kind die than fight beside you without a secure claim on your power. I'm doing this to help our kind find our true potential, stripping away the corruption and weakness."

"Stop, Alec," Magnus says. Alec sucks in a harsh breath, and Magnus quickly unclenches the fists he'd been subconsciously closing in pure reaction. "You would have seen my kind killed too, Alec. You would have slaughtered an entire people, all for this sick dream of yours. And you still would. You've hurt your _family_, the people who've loved you your whole life."

"I hurt Izzy because there wasn't another option, Magnus, I swear," Alec says. His eyes are wide, pleading. It's so much worse than the vitriol and hate. "Once she sees reason, once all of you see reason, everything will go back to normal."

"No, it won't."

"It will, Magnus," Alec says, pulling futilely against the force Magnus is still restraining him with. His neck and wrists are strained with the strength he's applying, but Magnus just presses him down harder. "It will, I promise it will. This is for everyone's best interest. The world will be better, for all of us."

"Oh, Alec," Magnus says, and pity makes his voice heavy, dragging it down like an anchor. He takes careful steps toward him, to this man who is all conviction and poison and lies, the broken product of a desperate madman. A person that, in part, may actually be capable of love. If only it mattered. "The sad thing is, I really think you mean that—"

"I do, I swear-"

"And you can't even tell how terrible that is," Magnus finishes sadly. He rests his hand against Alec's cheek. His touch is gentle, because even if it was all a lie, he used to love this man. "I'm going to put you to sleep now, Alec, and then I'm going to deliver you to the Clave."

"Magnus, please—"

"They will put you on trial for your crimes, and if there is any justice in the world, you will be put to death for everything you've wrought," Magnus continues, swallowing thickly. He looks anywhere but at those dark, fathomless eyes, does anything but linger on how he used to find them sexy and enigmatic.

"You don't have to do this," Alec begs. His voice cracks, and Magnus reminds himself that Alec has spent his whole life lying, not only to him, but to everyone he pretended to be close to. His family, and his friends.

"Between Luke and myself, as well as the voices of your…family, we should be able to push for a painless execution," Magnus presses on. He's shaking minutely, a small tremble in his fingers as he brushes Alec's bangs from his face. He considers hiding it, but figures there's little point. Dead men can't tell secrets. "You won't suffer needlessly."

"But I've been doing this all for you, you have to understand, please don't do this to me!"

"I hope that wherever death takes you, it is somewhere that you can finally find peace, Alec."

"Magnus!" With a final, desperate wrench of his hand, Alec manages to take advantage of Magnus's weakness. He grabs onto his shoulder and clings to the fabric of his coat. "Please, just… Kiss me."

From the moment Alec says it, Magnus knows he shouldn't. It is stupid and dangerous to give Alec any part of himself, to expose himself to the man's toxicity again. But the truth is he doesn't have to give anything to Alec, now. Not when he's still got the bits and pieces that Magnus already left behind.

Sentiment is something Magnus has always told himself he grew out of. As he leans in to kiss Alec, thinking back on the man who blushed and stuttered when he'd sent him a wink, whose knees had buckled during their first kiss, he admits to himself that, perhaps, his friends are right. Maybe he is a soft touch. Maybe romance has always been his weakness.

Magnus is still kissing Alec when he feels the sharp sting of something thin and small being driven into his arm. There's pressure, followed by a pinch.

Magnus rips the needle out of him, but whatever was inside of it is already spreading fast. He can feel it creeping through his limbs like icy waters, his blood thickening and slowing within his veins. His magic, always present beneath his skin, is being extinguished bit by bit, snuffed out like a line of candles, one at a time without pause.

"What did you do to me?" Magnus demands. He backs away on unsteady limbs, calling crackling flames of blue fire to his hands as he does. The fire gutters like a tongue of candle flame subject to a child's breathe, at risk of going out at any moment. Instead of the testament of strength he'd been hoping for, all it does is point out how quickly he's weakening.

"Nothing serious," Alec says, getting gracefully to his feet. Any trace of emotion he'd had on display is wiped clean, as blank as a chalk board before class begins. He swipes the dirt off of the knees of his pants and returns his Seraph blade to its sheath, replacing it for a small but wicked looking dagger. "I've neutralized your magic. It's not permanent, if you're worried about that. I just can't have it getting in the way right now."

"Getting in the way of what?"

"Taking you, of course," Alec says matter-of-factly, as if it should be obvious. Maybe it should have been. "Your Mother needs your help."

"Lilith is _not_ my mother," Magnus hisses. With his strength ebbing fast, he puts everything he has into one last burst of pure kinetic force, hoping to take Alec out before it's too late.

Quick as a blur, Alec dodges the blow entirely. With his preternatural speed he's on Magnus in moments, pressing him into the ground with the steel dagger lying gently against his throat, as soft as a kiss. "She may as well be, Magnus. She loves you like she does all warlocks, and she wants to help you."

"She wants to use me," Magnus says, and he has to choke back the sudden urge to laugh. Of course she wants to use him. Who doesn't? He feels like a top, empty and spiraling in tight circles without a fixed point to keep him steady. With every circle he makes, he lists closer and closer to the ground. "Just like you did when you said you loved me."

"One day, you'll believe me when I tell you I mean it," Alec says with a surety that terrifies Magnus to his core. No force on Earth has ever been able to force a person into real, true emotion, but if anyone can find a way, it would be the man only too happy to burn the world to cinders for the love and affection of his family.

"If you really loved me," Magnus begins carefully, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to watch the clouds above Alec's head swirl and shudder in the sky, "you would let me go."

"Mmm, who was it that said that, anyway?" Alec muses softly, dragging the tip of his dagger across Magnus's throat and then down, teasing along his collarbone until Magnus's breath quickens. "You're so skittish," he laughs. The kiss to Magnus's cheek is as terrible as it is fond.

"Kahlil Gibran," Magnus says. He is faint, and tiptoeing the line of consciousness. Part of him thinks he should be afraid right now, but mostly he's feeling hollowed out and empty. He wonders if Clary and her little friends will try to find him, or if they'll even care. What's the life of one Downworlder to that of an entire race descended from the Heavens?

"Who?" Alec asks absent-mindedly. He traces Magnus's throat with his blade one last time before drawing it away, then rubs delicately at the path he'd made on Magnus's skin, as though he thinks Magnus will find it soothing.

Magnus does not bother explaining himself. There is no wound on his body, but he feels bled out, not just of blood but of emotion and concern and strength. Eventually, he will plan, and he will find a way out, because escape and survival are all Magnus has ever done consistently throughout his life. Escape, survival, and magic.

But for now, he lets himself go. Alec picks him up and cradles him within his arms, resting Magnus's head in the crook of his neck. His grip is gentle as the breeze and as firm as steel girders. "Mother needs you, Magnus," he says softly. After a moment of hesitation he adds, "I need you."

When Magnus loses consciousness and falls into dreaming, he sees himself in the darkness, kissing Alec with his heart in his hand, setting it ablaze. He hopes that it is prophetic, and dreads that it is, too.

* * *

**Next up, I promise some actual romance in the form of Clary!Alec and Simon!Magnus. If you have anything you'd like to see, remember to let me know.**


	4. Alec as Clary & Magnus as Simon

**A/N—This one is written for the part of me that always wanted Clary/Simon instead of Clace. Here ya go, girl. You deserve it :)**

* * *

_: : : Chapter Four—Clary!Alec & Simon!Magnus : : :_

When Alec catches up with him and takes hold of his wrist, Magnus's skin is still chill from the pond water and exposure to the autumn air. If Alec weren't so furious with him, he would probably be berating him for being vain enough to forgo a jacket in the middle of a cold snap. Anger is still rushing through him like flames though, searing away his concern.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" Alec snaps when Magnus resists his hold, trying to break his grip. Once, he would have been able to do it easily. The fact that Alec is so much stronger than his friend now, so much faster and more agile, still strikes him as odd sometimes.

"Nothing," Magnus spits, continuing to pull away from Alec futilely. "Now let me go. I have to get home or my parents will kill me. That, and you're stretching the fabric of my shirt."

"If you'd stop being such a brat your shirt would be fine," Alec snaps. With his new strength, it's easy to jerk Magnus around to face him. It is significantly less easy to ignore the look Magnus fixes on him, as though by using his physical changes against him is a deep personal betrayal. Alec manages with Herculean effort. "Don't lie about rushing off because you're afraid to miss your curfew. You've been skipping your curfew on principle since middle school just to get a rise out of your dad."

"Maybe I'm just sick of fighting with him all the time," Magnus says. "Walking home to someone screaming in my face every night gets pretty stale after a while, even for me."

Even though he's facing him, Magnus has his head turned away, his gaze averted. His arms are crossed in front of his chest like tight steel bands, his grip turning his knuckles bone white. Alec doesn't think he's ever seen him looking more distant.

"Please, just tell me what's wrong, Magnus," Alec asks him, grasping the fabric in his hand more tightly. Later, when things blow over –their fights always blow over—Magnus will have his head for it.

"What isn't wrong?" Magnus asks him. He's still refusing to look Alec in the eye, his green gaze flickering back between various points in the park behind them. "This whole situation is FUBAR. You're risking your life for elitist assholes—"

"Would you stop with this 'elitist' stuff? Maybe things between you would be better if you weren't so belligerent with them," Alec points out heatedly. "All you ever seem to do is verbally attack them whenever you're around."

Magnus laughs, sharp and stilted. The sound is more frigid than the wind chill slicing through their clothes and skin.

"I should have figured you'd defend them," Magnus says in the bitter voice he usually reserves for days when he's resting his head in Alec's lap, cursing his father with his every breath because stopping would probably just make him cry.

Alec lets out a cry of pure frustration. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that if you aren't willing to call them out when they're treating me like something subhuman to your face, I shouldn't have expected you to change your tune when it's just the two of us." Magnus shakes his head and runs his free hand through his hair. He looks exhausted and more than a little ill. "Whatever. I'm not going to let him or any of his little cronies walk all over me. I may not be anything special, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let them treat me like crap. Not even for you."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Alec apologizes, trying to catch Magnus's wandering gaze. His efforts are studiously ignored. "I hadn't realized they were bothering you so much. That sort of thing usually rolls right off your back, so I figured—"

"What did you figure, Alec?" Magnus whips his head back around to pin him with a glare so full of heat and fire, Alec thinks he can feel his skin burning off. Maybe Magnus refusing to look at him wasn't so bad. "That because I'm used to ignoring people insulting my appearance or my sexuality, that I wouldn't be bothered by people insulting me about something else? Or that I wouldn't mind my best friend letting them insult me right in front of him and not saying a thing against it?"

"I've defended you," Alec protests. Nothing immediately comes to mind, but he must have. Magnus is his best friend, someone who's been with him through everything from his first day of elementary school to coming out to his mother. Defending him has always been like breathing: easy and instinctual.

"Oh yeah, some half-hearted, token disagreement right before you go back to forgetting I'm even around," Magnus says. "I feel so fucking loved. It's so kind of you to take some of your time out of worshiping the ground Jace walks on to defend me. I know that time is precious to you."

"Is this really about _Jace_?" Alec jerks at Magnus's sleeve so hard he hears some of the seams pop. Come morning he's sure he'll regret it, but right now he's too angry to care. How dare Magnus bring his feelings for Jace into this when he knows how hopeless he feels about them? "You know, I never thought you were actually as petty as you pretend to be sometimes, Magnus, but right now I'm not so sure. You're my friend, but I don't owe you all of my time. There's nothing wrong with me hanging out with Jace."

"You aren't just 'hanging out' with him, and I don't expect _all _of your time!" Magnus shoves at his shoulder, but at this point Alec refuses to let him go on principle. "Ever since you ran into that _Jace_ asshole, it's like nothing's the same anymore. You're so busy mooning over him you forget I exist! You didn't even notice me leaving until someone pointed it out to you, I heard it."

Alec rolls his eyes, even as some small part of him lurches nauseously at the accusation. "You're being melodramatic. Nothing between us has changed, and I'm not forgetting about you. You're still my best friend."

"Yes it _has, _Alec!" Magnus is shouting now, loudly enough that people are turning around to look at them. Reluctant to let go but too embarrassed to keep a grip on it, Alec releases the sleeve of Magnus's shirt. "We barely talk anymore. You're skipping school and slacking off, and every time I try to bring it up you side-step everything and talk about Jace-this and Shadowhunting-that. I understand wanting to find a cure for your mom, but you don't have to abandon everything about your old life to do it. Am I—I mean, is it really so much less valuable to you?"

"Thanks for finally acknowledging the whole reason I'm doing this," Alec says, distantly aware that his voice is steadily rising in volume as well. Anger is crashing through him like a wave, breaking against the inside of his skull, the deafening boom of it reverberating through his head. "My mom is in some magic-induced coma and we have no clue how to wake her up. I'm doing everything for her, and if it means helping out a dying race of people at the same time, so be it. And you know, so what if I'm getting more into Shadowhunting? It's not like high school was ever great for me. I fit into this…this demon hunting. I can do it, and do it _well_. I've never felt so comfortable in my own skin before. What's wrong with dropping something that's never been any good for me?"

The two of them are less than a foot apart, but Magnus looks at him as though they are standing on opposite sides of a ravine and Alec just set the only bridge spanning the distance aflame.

"What about me?"

The fabric of his sodden jeans clings to him uncomfortably as he shifts, chaffing his skin until it burns. "What are you talking about?"

"You said that nothing about your old life has ever been good for you, but what about me?" Magnus asks. His voice is rough, and he's back to avoiding Alec's gaze, staring at his shoes. "I know sometimes people find me annoying and abrasive, but I've always been there for you."

"Oh Magnus, no, I didn't mean…" Alec trails off, the words dying in his throat. He doesn't know what he meant, but he knows he never meant to make Magnus looks like he does now. Magnus should never look so defeated and rudderless. Alec was always the one without a goal in life, caught up in the undertow of Magnus's tsunami of pure confidence and purpose.

"It's okay," Magnus says. He's still got his arms crossed, but the gesture no longer looks tense and angry to Alec's eyes. It looks a lot more like he's trying to hold himself together. "I should be happy you're happy. I'm just being selfish."

"You're not…"

"I am," Magnus denies. He's backing away, retreating for the first time Alec has ever seen in all the years he's known him. Magnus never backs down. "It just _sucks_, loving you so much and knowing you've never looked at me the way you look at Jace. I've been taking it out on you and I'm sorry. I'll see you later, okay?"

Magnus whirls around and dashes off before Alec can stop him. To be honest, Alec is so weighted down with shock he's not sure he could have stopped Magnus if he tried.

Had he heard Magnus correctly? Did he really just say he _loves_ him? Him, Alec? His awkward friend who everyone at school thinks Magnus keeps around out of pity or a sense of obligation? Magnus, the guy who sleeps around but never dates, even though he could have anyone he wanted with no effort at all?

Magnus, who has been his best friend since longer than he has clearly defined memories?

Alec considers chasing after him, but decides to give his friend space and let Magnus cool down on his own. Besides, even if he did rush after him, what would he say? Alec has no clue how to respond to a confession like that, or how to feel about it.

Yes, Magnus has always been there for him. It would be a lie to claim Alec hasn't entertained thoughts of them together, but eventually he figured it's natural to sometimes feel like that for someone who's so close to you. It can be hard, defining the line between friend and love interest when you've _always _been intimate. It's not something that developed recently- it happened gradually, like moving from toy exchanges to secret sharing. They started sleeping in the same bed during sleepovers when Magnus forgot his sleeping bag in second grade and never bothered to stop. They came out to each other before their parents. Magnus knows exactly what flavor of ice cream to bring over when Alec is upset versus when he's angry, and he knows not to bring it anywhere near Alec when he's celebrating because Magnus knows that as far as he is concerned, ice cream is a food for crying or raging.

Romance, Alec had decided in his freshman year of high school as he watched Magnus make his way behind the bleachers hand in hand with a handsome blond senior, would only ruin things between them.

Alec liked things between them. He still likes things between them now. He would do anything to preserve the _them _between them.

In the end, Alec goes back to the Institute and studiously avoids any thoughts at all, about Magnus and all the changes in his life and even the fact that when Jace smiles at him upon his return, Alec's heart doesn't flutter in response like it used to.

When Alec answers the door to The Institute a few hours later, he is met by the sight of Magnus dangling lifelessly from Raphael's arms. Distantly, he thinks that the way Magnus –easily over six feet tall— dwarfs the vampire would be comical if not for the gashes on his wrists and neck, or the pallor to his usually glowing skin. He touches the torn flesh with shaking fingers, feeling the way the blood flakes off at his touch. Blood too dry to feel sticky or wet. Magnus's blood.

_This blood came from Magnus. This blood came from Magnus's body and it's not coming out anymore because he has nothing left to bleed. Magnus is dead and how can you apologize for being an insensitive jerk if Magnus is dead?_

"You…You killed him. _You fucking_—"

Raphael shakes his head. "He's not dead, Shadowhunter. Not yet—"

At that, Alec tears Magnus from Raphael's arms with a single, wordless cry, pouring out of his throat from some deep wound inside his chest. He resists Jace's and Clary's tugging, wrapping Magnus's limp body in his arms and focusing on the last of Magnus's shuddering breaths. He is determined to watch Magnus take every single one, to live them with him to the last, count them down one by one, measure the distance between them like a child measures the seconds between a roll of thunder and a strike of lightning.

"I'm so sorry," he says between each one. "I love you," he adds, when the time spanned between each rise and fall of Magnus's chest has become long enough to fit it in.

They've always shared everything with each other, homework and beds and celebrity crushes. Why would that change now?

"I'm so sorry. I love you."

* * *

**A/N—Okay, so I promised actual romance in this section, and I intend to stick by that promise. It just comes in Part Two, since I want to keep these at around ~2000-2500 words an installment. **


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